From Mud and Blood
by The Red Strings
Summary: Despite everything that he was brought up to believe, Draco Malfoy still fell for her. For all the differences that marked them and separated them, he knew that somehow they were all created the same. For when he looked at her, Hermione Granger, all he saw was a muddy witch covered in her own blood. ONESHOT.


**I know, I know. **

**I have been gone for months, and for good reasons. Life this year has not been too kind, but it has been generous enough to let me swim in a new pool of ideas and thoughts. Also, for those who have been asking for a new chapter for _Without Fault_, there will be one within the next few weeks. It's been hard since I'm debating on whether I should split this last chapter into two different chapters.**

**Anyways, this story just came up in my mind one day. **

**I've become a Dramione fan, and this itch _desperately _needed to be scratched!**

**And with this, I hope you all will like it!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**_

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**.:From Mud and Blood:.**

_She had fine eyes._

That is the first thing he will ever remember when he saw her being pulled into the camp, her lovely and _fierce _eyes and curls that coiled around a pretty face, even despite the bruises and blood. He remembers her from the halls of Hogwarts with those same eyes, all knowing with an unyielding strength swimming behind hardened amber.

So strong. So full of light.

Many of the others saw her as a novelty toy, ready to be played with, ready to be damaged due to some rough handling, and while they were eager to start their play, they also sneered at her. They wanted to prod her out of her shell for she saw and felt nothing when they were near.

_Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood._

They repeated those words as they beat her.

And yet she never trembled nor did she cower when they would abuse her.

He would watch them all take their turns on her, never cringing at the sounds of her bones breaking, but neither did she. Though, whenever he did watch, she would look at him with these eyes of intense fire. They all wanted to smother that flame inside her, in their beatings and cruel mind-games; they wanted that fire to be extinguished.

But he, Draco Malfoy, wanted to savor it.

He wanted to bask in her light, to feel her warmth. He wanted to crawl inside her skin, all in order to breathe and beat the same as her. He wanted to be that close with Hermione Granger for his fascination with her never did quite end. Not when he wanted to hate her back in school, not even when the Dark Lord won.

Though, despite all the bruises and broken bones he would watch her body accept with as much grace as a battered woman could accept, it was the day they shaved her curls that made him claim her as his own. To see lion without its mane was almost too cruel, and to see a woman without her hair, even as atrocious as Granger's, was also cruel.

And so he bought her home from the camp, receiving permission from his Lord to keep her as a war trophy, all understanding since the Dark Lord kept a few himself. She said nothing to him for the first week of her arrival into his quiet home, and his mother and father had been quite dead for a while now so any protests of keeping Potter's princess in his possession was not an issue.

Despite the fire that exists inside of her, Granger would say nothing to him, not even spit back in his face with the anger that has manifested inside of her. She was cold and unyielding to his newfound affections, well as affectionate as a Malfoy was allowed to be, towards her, though, that ice would only thaw when she roamed around his gardens.

But he only saw true happiness when she would kneel at this stone bench with her hands clasped together, and she would bring those dainty hands to her lips and _pray_.

Draco had asked her once what she was praying to, and when she raised those fierce eyes to look in own, she said, "_God."_

Draco never bothered with muggle religion, especially Christianity, however, he sought after a bible. It was after that he would always turn away when he saw her _pray_ for he felt like he was intruding on something inexplicably intimate between _her and God_, though, he never turned away before she would open her eyes and look at him and what was _beyond_ him.

Draco always felt ashamed, feeling as if she knew, at that moment, what fantasies were going on in his mind. Fantasies of what could have been if they were only people. If he was simply a man and she was just a woman.

If they were just two people with the ability to love.

But they weren't just two people.

He was a Dark wizard and she was a Light witch.

And they both knew that _neither_ of them could love.

**~x~**

Draco would often wake up when she had her night terrors, often walking into her room with her clawing at her skin, red with blood that dripped down her little hands. Blood that was sticky warm and red as his own.

He would pull those arms away from her skin, restraining her from hurting either of them in her rage of fit, and he would wipe those salty tears from her sad eyes. Only in the night was when that flame becomes so weak, and it was those moments in which she would break down and cling to him as if she knew that he was the only thing in existence that would ever show her kindness ever again.

And she would cry harder every time after she let that thought sink into her mind.

And it was after the third week when she tried to throw herself out the window did he force her to sleep in his personal chambers. He would make her sleep in his bed next to him, allowing her to sleep in her night clothes.

Even the ridiculous muggle ones she insisted on having.

He would often rub her head, sad to only feel fuzz than the horrible curls that he had grown to admire.

"They only did this to me because I have dirty blood," one night she whispered to him, "and because I have dirty blood it makes me not human. It makes me not woman."

And her shoulders trembled, and he kissed her skin to show his desire for he knew that she was a woman. But Granger seemed to have forgotten this fact. That very next day he gave her a potion to regrow her hair, and he loved how they coiled around her smiling face.

She looked at him, _actually looked at him_, with a small smile and then turned away from him to pray.

And he watched her go as she fluttered out into his gardens in a white flowing gown that made her more breathtakingly beautiful. It was as if she had flown out of his hands once more into a world that he could never touch.

A world that was beyond this, beyond _theirs_, and it was a world where she found peace with her God.

And sometimes he envied her God for that was the only time she ever found peace.

Draco envied her God because that was when she would show her blind faith and love in something else, _someone else_ that was not him. He wanted to hate her God, but he could not. He wished that he never read the bible, wanting to rip that knowledge out of his brain and burn those memories and thoughts that opposed his ideals.

And yet, while wanting to do all of this because of her God, he never thought to do it at all when he was with her.

For he knew that, despite her dirty blood, they were all somehow made from mud and blood.

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**And that is all. This probably served me a good break from Klaus and Hermione from _Without_ _Fault_ since it was frustrating me. The story is a bit challenging since I don't know how I want to end it. So I guess this story provided me an outlet for my frustrations since I left it the way it is, and it refreshed me enough to do a little more work on the last chapter(s) on _Without Fault. _**

**Anyways, I hope you all liked it.**

**I hope everyone leaves a review with their thoughts and comments.**

**Whether or not you liked the story, I still would love to hear your feedback!**

**Until next time!**

**-The Red Strings-**

**T**


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